


I'm Not Whole When You're Not Here

by bloodofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/bloodofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during and post-Red Wedding</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Whole When You're Not Here

There was a drum beating somewhere, or was that just the beating of his heart? _Boom boom boom_ until the sound surrounded him, shaking him in the darkness until his eyes were likely to rattle out of his skull.

“But let Robb go.” There had been other words before that, he knew, but he hadn’t heard, hadn’t been listening. He was too focused on the drum, on the steady river of blood flowing past the table, on his hand itching for a sword.

His hands were shaking. _A king’s hands shouldn’t shake,_ he told himself, as if that could stop it. He gripped the table’s edges, aware that his mouth had opened, that he had said something. _Boom boom boom._

“Then for Jeyne.” _But what were the words before that? I don’t know, I didn’t listen, I couldn’t listen._

“Jeyne? Mother, Grey Wind.” He was still shaking, still gripping the table, and he couldn’t think. Couldn’t think, could only see faces floating before him. _Jeyne._ A moment, the drum rushing to fill the silence, boom boom boom, and he could see her, could almost feel her next to him. “Jeyne,” he whispered.

Someone mentioned Jaime Lannister, and he paused. _The Kingslayer? Why would he fit into this?_ Cold steel pricked his chest, and then darkness. _Boom boom boom._

***

He found out, through garbled whispers and snatches of conversation, but he found out.

He’d collapsed then, reeling in the stinking pile of mud and dung, battered hands scrambling for something to hold onto, something to anchor him. His eyes fell shut and pictures flashed through his mind; pictures that weren’t his, not anymore, he was _Reek;_ Reek, Reek it rhymed with weak.

But the pictures came all the same: a small auburn-headed boy smiling up at him; those auburn curls matted with sweat as he clutched a sword in hand; a bronze and iron crown nestled in his hair, the blue eyes clear under its weight.

His eyes opened, but the memories were still there. But thinking was dangerous, remembering was dangerous, and desperately he tried to stop it, tried to force it away. But still they came: a clasp on the shoulder, a grin pressed against his skin.

_My name is Reek,_ he thought wildly, eyes spinning in their sockets. _Reek, Reek it rhymes with meek._

And then, _I should have been with him. Where was I? I should have died with him._

***

She knew before she was told, though she could scarce say how. Her heart felt hollow, and she pushed back her hair, and swallowed her tears.

Locked in a sparse room, she called back the memory of their last night together; his mouth pressed on hers, his hands knotted in her hair, he always loved her hair, said he could lose himself in those dark curls, and she had laughed, leaning forward and draping her hair like a curtain over them. Her fingers had traced lines on his skin, whispering along his jawline, and he had pushed into her, until she thought she might break apart, until she thought her heart might burst. “I love you,” he’d breathed fiercely, the words fading across her cheek. “And I you,” she’d said back, arching her back, kissing him until they both lay breathless and entangled on the bed.

She slept alone now, watching the sunlight turn to shadows, watching the darkness claim the room, but she did not weep.


End file.
